Memories and Forgivness
by Mona Lisa
Summary: Faramir reflects on his relationship with Boromir- not slash, that would be just plain wrong!


Disclaimer- I sadly do not own Faramir or Boromir or anything else created by J.R.R. Tolkien 

Author's note- I said I would write a story that was nice to Boromir. Here it is. It's actualy knid of depressing. It is Faramir reflecting on his relationship with Boromir. Don't forget that this is NOT slash. I hate slash. I find it to be disgusting, but considering Faramir and Boromir were brothers? Well, that is just sicker than usual and just plain WRONG! Well, anyways, this is my first non-humor fic, so don't get mad at me if it totaly sucks. If you can't tell, Faramir is narrorating. Things in the Presant tense is what he is doing while he is narroating, things in past tense are his memories.   


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Memories   
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The stars smile down on me as they peer out from behind their velvety black curtain. To me, they seem to be tiny beacons of hope in the Sea of Darkness that is engulfing the World. I sigh and close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the world around me. All is quiet and calm. It is a good thing in these dark times, when the world around you is peaceful. Yet I do not feel at peace. The War continues to rage outside my city, and it has been two nights since I discovered that my dear brother, Boromir, was dead. 

I remeber the night I learnt of his death clearly. I had been keeping watch on the bank of the Great River when I noticed a boat drifting down the River. An awe fell upon me, for a light seemed to be coming from it. I waded out into the water and looked into the boat, which was filled with water, undoubtably where the light was coming from. And sleeping peacefuly in the water was Boromir, my beloved brother. I knew he was dead, for his body had many wounds. Yet it was Boromir, just as I had remembered him. His sword was in his hand, and his shield lay at his feet. Only his horn was missing. His face was peaceful, and more beautiful than it had been in life. 

"Boromir!" I cried to him. I wanted badly to stop the boat, not wanting him to drift away from me, yet I was afraid to touch the boat. I feared that if I came into contact with the boat, I would realize that this was indeed what was happening, not just dream. "Where is thy horn? Wither goest thou? Boromir! Oh Boromir!" And then he was gone. The boat continued down the River, and Boromir was gone from me forever. 

I shake my head and open my eyes. The memory is painful. I feel hopeless. My Brother is dead, and I had been unable to stop it. In all truth, it was I who should have gone, I who should have died. The riddle he left home to decipher was originaly in my dream. I had dreamt about it many times, and only once did the dream come to Boromir. I had asked Father if I could go to Imladeris for council, but Boromir said that he would go in my place. 

My people were even more helpless than I was, I think as I look back to where my men have made a small fire and are warming themselves. Boromir had been the stongest, bravest man in Gondor. It was a bad omen that he should be killed. Now all that was left was the small army of a fallen Kingdom, my band of Rangers who defened Ithilin, and perhaps a few others. We had hopped that Boromir would bring help from Imladeris upon his return. Alas! Not much hope is left for us. 

I lean back aginst the rock, and look again at the stars. Perhaps there is not much hope, but there is still some hope. If only my Father would see it. He began to dispair, long ago. My Father is a noble man. He loves Gondor, as did Boromir. He loved mother dearly. After her death, he had grown cold, and troubled. I belive that Boromir was the only person in this wold that he loved as much as he loved Mother. He was his favorite child. He sent Boromir to Imladeris, into battle, looked to him to make things right. He did not let me do many of the things that Boromir got to do. Boromir was stong, courageous, loyal. He did not particularly care for lore, unless it be tales of old battles. Boromir loved battle. It was his chief delight. He never married, or I doubt even thought of it. He spent all of his time learning to become a warrior. It also displeased him greatly that father was not a King. "How many years does it take for the Kingdom to not have a King before the Steward becomes King?" He had asked once. 

I was differant. I was interested in lore, history, and books. I was fond of Mithrandir as well. From him I learnt wisdom and lore. This displeased Father, for he was not fond of Gandalf, and wanted me to be more like Boromir. Over the years, I have done many things to earn Father's disapproval. 

Yet dispite our Father's attitude, there was hardly any rivlrey between Boromir and I. I was not jelous that he was Fathers favorite, and I loved him and respected him deeply, and I had for as long as I can remember. Growing up, Boromir was my helper and protector. In adulthood, he was my closest friend. 

I feel a tear run down my cheak as I remember my last meeting with him. It was one of the few times I had argued with him. I was angry at him for going in my place. For once, I wanted to be the one to go on an important mission. The night before he left, we had gottan into an argument. I had yelled at him, and told him that I was sick of him, that mabye my life would have been better without him. After I said that, he did not reply. Insted, he shook his head and left. I know I hurt him, for when he looked back, pain was mirrored in his face. At once I had regretted saying those words, and wanted to take them back. It was to late. He had gone, and I was left to deal with it on my own. Now I shall never be able to tell him that I am sorry.   


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There it is, the first part. there is another part, belive it or not. Review, please, because I like reviews. 


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